


presumption of facts

by cyranothe2nd



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Biology, Deception, First Kiss, Genetic Engineering, I Will Go Down With This Ship, M/M, Pining, Post-Episode: s05e16 Doctor Bashir I Presume
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-04-06 22:11:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19071694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyranothe2nd/pseuds/cyranothe2nd
Summary: After his secret is out, Julian thinks he should feel guiltier.  After all, he has been lying to everyone he knows for more than two decades. But, to his great surprise, no one seems to care. His friends—with one notable exception—have been understanding and accommodating.It is that exception who has just now cancelled another lunch date.





	1. One

    After his secret is out, Julian thinks he should feel guiltier.  After all, he has more or less been lying to everyone he knows for more than two decades. He has committed crimes--actual prosecutable crimes--to keep his secret hidden. He has destroyed relationships, and even let people get hurt rather than reveal himself.

 

 _Though I’ve never let anyone die_ , Julian thinks. _I’m still human enough not to have gone that far_.

 

    Even so, he knows he’s done a lot of terrible things to keep his genetic status a secret. Yet, in the aftermath of his father’s disastrous revelation to Doctor Zimmerman and Chief O’Brien that Julian is genetically enhanced, Julian doesn’t feel as much regret as he thinks he should. Mostly, he is _relieved_ that his secret is finally out in the open. Relieved, too, that none of the things he’d feared for so many years will come to pass. He will not go to prison, nor lose his commission. He will not even be reduced in rank. Everything has fallen into place so smoothly that Julian finds it disquieting. The fear that has loomed large over much of his life has turned out to mostly be a product of his own mind.

 

     Nevertheless, there is a certain _artificialness_ that Julian still feels he needs to maintain. His real self—the Jules tucked into the corners of his Perfectly Normal Doctor persona—has always been too sharp, too ambitious, too smart, too strong. A little _too much_ of everything. He had spent his childhood feeling like a freak, shunned by his classmates and hiding in books. Alone, always. When he had first found out what his parents had done to him, he’d been happy to have an explanation for it all. Finally, he understood why he felt different from everyone else.

 

    And, after the initial shock wore off, he also understood that he didn’t have to be alone. That he could create a version of himself more acceptable to his classmates and his teachers.

 

     Jules died that day, and Julian Bashir was born.

 

    Julian is ambitious, yes, but Julian doesn’t always win. He is good at sports, yes, but Julian doesn’t pursue that career. He is smart, yes, but Julian is only the second-best in his class at Starfleet Medical. Julian neatly shaves off all the rough edges of Jules and finds himself surrounded by friends and lovers, no longer alone. It takes him a while to learn the trick of making those relationships last, to show occasional cracks in his armor, but Julian has managed to carefully curate friendships on _Deep Space Nine_ in a way that is, to his own surprise, not wholly inauthentic. He’s been more himself here than anywhere else, and he doesn’t want to threaten this fragile balance by showing his colleagues and friends how inhuman he truly is. So, although Julian does not feel as guilty as he should, he makes a point to _appear_ to feel guilty. He goes around for days after the revelation of his genetic status and apologizes to everyone. One by one, his friends and colleagues forgive him. No one accuses him of being a fraud. No one is stiff or angry at him for long. His friends—with one notable exception—have been surprisingly understanding and accommodating.

 

   It is that exception who has just now cancelled another lunch date.

 

    It has been three weeks of cancelled lunches, genial excuses and apologetic exits. Garak is always very polite about it, but Julian has been watching him for five years and he knows Garak fairly well by now. Julian’s apology has not been accepted; Garak has played the contrite act too well himself to be fooled by Julian. Behind his polite rebuffs, there is a definite edge of anger and a warning to leave the other man alone for a while. Julian should heed this warning. Riling an angry Cardassian, not to mention an ex-Obsidian Order operative, is probably a very bad idea. But Julian has always been a little foolhardy where Garak is concerned. Getting involved in Cardassian politics, just to help Garak get revenge on Dukat. Risking exposure under the gimlet eye of Enabran Tain, not once but twice _._ Carrying Garak out of that terrible claustrophobic space at the internment camp, when Julian knows very well that a normal human should not have been strong enough to do so.

 

     Confronting Garak directly seems a trifle in comparison. Besides, he thinks he knows why Garak is angry with him. If he’s wrong, the stunt he’s about to pull will probably end their friendship. Or at least, it will make things incredibly awkward between them. But if he’s right — if he’s right…

 

     The doctor marches into Garak’s empty shop precisely at closing time and says, “Garak, how long do you plan on being in a snit because frankly, I’d rather we had it out before it completely wrecks our relationship.”

 

    Julian mind automatically memorizes the way Garak’s solid frame stiffens a bit, though Julian isn’t sure whether it is due to his acknowledgement and dismissal of Garak’s anger, or at the use of the word ‘relationship.’ It is a very Cardassian opening gambit and one he hopes Garak will appreciate.

 

    Garak is turned towards the doors, having been about to lock them when Julian appeared, and Julian watches as he goes about locking up and turning off his sign unhurriedly, keeping his back to Julian in a way designed to appear trusting. Julian does not miss the way Garak’s eyes peer at him from the reflective surface of the door frame though, his look cool and assessing. After he has locked up the front of the store and triggered the privacy glass over the display window, Garak turns back to Julian, genial mask firmly in place.

 

    “What a fractious mood you are in, my dear doctor. But I am afraid that I don’t know what you’re talking about. Surely there is nothing which we need to ’have out.’”

 

    Julian’s eyes follow the expansive gestures of those grey hands, but he refuses to let himself be sidetracked. “Oh, so you haven’t been avoiding me? That’s all in my mind, is it?”

 

    “Surely I would not hope to guess what is in your mind, my dear. Nevertheless, my apologies for any offense I may have caused,” Garak smoothly answers. “I have been quite busy with my work.”

 

     He walks further into the shop to stand behind the counter, idly tidying up a few stacks of papers. Julian feels a stab of glee that Garak feels exposed enough that he’s had to put the counter between them. “And that wisecrack on the _Defiant_ , about me being a computer?”

 

    “Humor is a difficult concept to translate across species, don’t you agree? One may perceive an insult where it is not intended.”

 

    And really, that excuse is just insulting to Julian’s intellect.

 

    The doctor stalks around the counter and pauses, standing just a little in Garak’s personal space. They are the same height, but Julian leans forward a little anyway, mimicking a pose he’s seen Dukat use on Kira many times. Garak holds his ground and his apologetic expression.

 

    “Bullshit,” Julian says flatly.

 

    “Ah, another delightful human colloquialism! Truly, I feel as though I am always learning in your presence, Doctor.” Garak beams at him.

    “Oh please, spare me the ‘plain and simple tailor’ routine. You’re not angry I kept a secret. You’re angry that that I managed to keep it secret from _you_.” Garak’s narrowed eyes tells Julian that he’s struck a nerve. Julian laughs mirthlessly.  “After all, you saw me twice a week, sometimes more, for nearly five years, and you didn’t figure it out. Oh, that must gall you! The idea that I managed to fool you for so long. Is it your professional pride that’s been pricked, Garak?”

 

    “Hardly,” Garak strikes back. “But it does explain so much about you, does it not? All your broken relationships, all your casual amours. All sacrifices to your fear of giving yourself away.”

 

    “Oh finally, we get to the heart of the matter,” Julian rejoins.

 

    For a moment, Garak looks well and truly angry. The change is thrilling; all Garak’s officiousness slides into a predatory slouch and his blue eyes go as hard as diamonds. Julian feels a stab of trepidation and for a moment he considered diverting the conversation into a more innocuous direction. However, the flush that suffuses Garak’s neck ridges quickly dispels any such notion.

 

     “I do not have the pleasure of understanding you,” Garak says, his lapse effortlessly concealed behind a placid façade once again.

 

    Julian bares his teeth in the approximation of a smile. The doctor uses surprise and his augmented strength to push Garak bodily into the wall behind him. Garak’s back hits the bulkhead and he makes a little hiss of outrage, his mask slipping again and some of the anger showing through, but Julian doesn’t give him time to recover, putting his hands against Garak’s chest to hold him there. Garak has no choice but to meet his eyes, though Julian is well aware of the fact that, even with his enhanced physical strength, he is no match for Garak if the older man truly wanted to get away.

 

    “Stop…bullshitting…me,” Julian grinds out, every word a gauntlet thrown down. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.” Julian softens his voice a bit, “And you’re right. I have sacrificed our relationship in order to keep my secret.”

 

    Garak’s eyes widen a bit at that admission. They have never spoken of this aloud. Julian has stood on this precipice many times in the past, but he always steps back, maintaining the polite fiction of a casual friendship. Over the years, that fiction has reified into restraints and rules—the rules Julian has for himself concerning all of his relationships, both professional and private, yes. But also, a special set of rules that are specific to Garak only.

 

    For example — touching. Touching is something normal humans do. Though Julian is always anxious that some slip-up will reveal his enhanced strength or dexterity, he has made a point of exhuding a breezy, charming manner that includes warm touches to the shoulder or a light press of hands. Such simple things, and yet they make Julian feel less alone, less trapped inside his own lies.

 

    But with Garak he must be more careful, more restrained. He still touches him, of course, reasoning that not doing so at all will look suspicious. But he metes out each small contact with rigid attention. Julian can sometimes not help but think of the lovely design of scales that he has seen at the center of Garak’s chest only once, in the course of his professional duties. To lay his hands over the top of that design, as he has just done, is a rare indulgence. He wants so much more, but pursuing a physical relationship would be utter folly, Julian knows. Because, despite what he intimated earlier about Garak’s intellect, Julian is achingly aware of the fact that Garak is the only person on this station who presents even the slightest challenge to his disguise as Julian Bashir, Perfectly Normal Doctor.  

 

     “I’ve never regretted any of those sacrifices,” Julian admits. He is standing so close that he can see flecks of silver in the blue of Garak’s eyes, can feel the beating of the other man’s heart beneath his hands. “Because if I let myself regret any of them, it will eat me alive.”

 

    Garak’s hand comes up and squeezes Julian’s elbow, cool fingers pressing into the black fabric and holding there. “You need hardly apologize to me about keeping secrets, my dear. I admit that my pride was injured by your thorough, and quite well-conceived, deception, but I am a foolish old man and will get over my pique presently, I assure you.”

 

    The words are another mask, but the way that Garak is looking at him and the hand still clutching his arm, are more truthful. They give Julian the courage to say, “Shut up, Elim.”

 

    And Julian kisses him.

 

    It is a light brushing of lips, no more, but it sparks a blaze in Julian’s chest just the same. The hand on his elbow tightens almost painfully for a moment, then loosens, but does not let go. Julian pulls back, eyes still closed, and says lowly, “I’m not sorry for lying to you. And I know that you aren’t really angry about that. I know you understand it.”

 

     “Of course. And, you are not truly to blame. I am a former member of the Obsidian Order and the son of Enabran Tain, after all. I have been a threat to you and to this station many times and may well be one again. It is not unwise of you to mistrust me.”

 

    Julian leans forward a little and presses his forehead into the ridge between Garak’s shoulder and ear. He breathes in the clean scent of him for a few moments, the other man motionless against him. Julian feels terribly exposed and deliriously powerful all at once, because he can see it — the way Garak is shifting through characters too quickly, moving from Tailor, to Friend, to Spy in the space of a few seconds. It is sloppy and so unlike him. Julian feels vertiginous at the notion that’s he finally managed to surprise the other man. His fingers clutch at the lapels of Garak’s jacket, scrambling over the fine fabric until Garak clasps his wrists and force Julian’s hands to still.

 

   “You’re right, about posing a threat to me.” Julian murmurs into Garak’s skin. “If you’d figured it out, you could have used my secret as your ticket back to Cardassia. You would have done it, too. I know you would have. God, you almost killed me and Odo less than a year ago! It’s not just that I shouldn’t trust you. It’s that I shouldn’t even have been seeing you.” Julian’s lips brush Garak’s swollen neck ridges as he speaks and Garak hisses, clasping hiss wrists tighter. Some part of Julian is screaming at him to stop, but the greedy part—the Jules part--presses on. “You weren’t wrong about my string of failed relationships, either. I never let anybody close. I should have done the smart thing and cut you out my life, like I’ve done so many other people. I should have dropped you flat.”

 

  Julian pulls back to look at Garak’s face, wanting confirmation that his conclusion about Garak’s anger is correct. “I wasn’t your friend because it was easy. It wasn’t! I may be smarter than most humans, but I’m not perfect. I make mistakes. Most people don’t notice; _you notice_.  It was work, being your friend. It was a needless, stupid risk.”

 

    Garak is watching him sharply, head tilted forward like a predator, pupils blow wide. Julian feels a thrill of triumph in his chest. _I was right,_ he thinks. He is well and truly over the precipice now, was as soon as he touched Garak, really, but Julian isn’t finished. He is through with restraints and rules. He will play Perfectly Normal Doctor for everybody else, but he has always made an effort for Elim Garak.

 

    “But I didn’t stop seeing you. Even though I had to work hard to keep one step ahead of you, even though I knew it was dangerous. Do you know why?”

 

    The look on Garak’s face is reptilian, utterly alien. His fingers grip Julian’s wrists bruisingly. “Doctor,” he says, voice full of warning. “In the aftermath of a great shock, it is natural for a human to- “

 

    Julian interrupts him as if he hasn’t spoken.  “It’s because I am hopelessly in love with you.”

 

     The way Garak’s eyes darken at that statement sends a shock right thorough Julian, causes his breath to go shallow. Garak’s eyes rake over his face, his neck, the unadorned hollow of his throat. The Cardassian’s lips draw back in a snarl. “Oh, my brilliant Julian, you will be the death of me.”

 

    Julian’s eyes slide closed and he very deliberately tips his head back to bare his throat. Garak’s teeth latch onto his skin and bite down. The pain whites out Julian’s vision for a moment, and then Garak’s cool tongue rasps over the mark his teeth made. Julian sways forward, content to yield as Garak bites a line of bruises up his throat. When he reaches Julian’s chin, he releases the doctor’s wrists.  Garak’s hands come up to frame his face and pull Julian forward into a kiss.

 

    Julian hadn’t been sure that Cardassians even kissed, had been a little afraid his earlier brush of lips had broken some cultural taboo. Julian is glad that is not the case. Indeed, Garak’s kisses him skillfully, tongue tracing the seam of Julian’s lips before pushing inside.  Julian pushes back with his own tongue, earning a shiver from the other man. Head spinning, he wraps his arms around Garak and pulls their bodies together. The feel of Garak’s solid body pressing in to his is so very good that Julian cannot help the little moan that escapes him. He’s more aroused then he’s probably ever been, enough that he is seriously considering letting Garak bend him over his shop counter, when Julian’s comm chimes.

 

    Julian ignores it and goes right on kissing Garak. A second chime makes him groan and pull out of the kiss, opening his eyes with difficulty. Garak’s skin is flushed dark grey and his hair is a bit disheveled, though Julian doesn’t remember doing it. He looks so sexy that Julian is about to lean in for another kiss, comm be damned, when it chimes again.

 

    He slaps his badge with more force than necessary.

 

    “Bashir here,” he says in a carefully controlled voice.

 

    “Doctor, sorry to interrupt you after your shift, but you said you wanted to know if we got another case of the Belvinian flu. Well, three more just walked in,” Nurse Jabara sounds annoyed. Bashir grimaces. Belvinian flu isn’t deadly, but it is highly communicable and has rather nasty symptoms when left untreated. His staff will have to act fast or risk a station-wide outbreak.

 

    “I’m on my way.” He cuts the comm. Julian takes a deep breath before looking back at Garak, who has smoothed his hair and now looks rather amused.

 

    “Interrupted by the comm. How very cliché,” he says wryly.

 

    Julian huffs a laugh. “Yes. But I do really have to go.” He takes another step back, straightening his uniform jacket and wondering how visible the bruises on his neck are. From the way that Garak’s gaze lingers, Julian guesses that they are highly visible and makes a mental note to perform a dermal regen before he sees any patients. “This is going to take hours,” he says, “And we both have to work tomorrow.  May I see you afterward?”

 

    Garak looks even more amused at Julian’s formality. “You may. Though not here at my shop. I am a rather private man, you know. You may come to my quarters after 1900.”

 

    Julian grins and nods his assent. He follows Garak to the doors and waits as Garak unlocks them. Then, he turns quickly, pressing a hard kiss to the scales just under Garak’s ear. He leans back, gratified to see that Garak looks a bit rattled.

 

    “Tomorrow,” Julian says fiercely and darts out the door.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be a two-shot, but then the plot arrived. Buckle up folks! (ETA 06/05: Edited some sentences for fluidity and inserted a bit of dialogue that I had mistakenly cut out.)

    Julian is infinitely grateful that Nurse Jabara isn’t in the general treatment room when he enters the Infirmary, but only E’lia, their medical trainee. The walk between Garak’s shop and medbay isn’t long enough for him to have wrestled his thoughts back towards medicine completely and even if he had been able to control the flush still warming his cheeks, he knows that Jabara, the terrible gossip, wouldn’t have missed the bruises on his neck.

 

    “Doctor Bashir,” E’lia greets Julian enthusiastically. “We have treated the flu cases already, and Nurse Jabara has taken the patients back to Observation Room One for interviews.”

 

    “Still just the three cases?”

 

    “Yes, doctor, but Security says there are another twelve on the way over.”

 

    “Very well. I’ll be right out.”

 

     He darts into his office and looks at himself in his lavatory mirror. He looks absolutely debauched. Garak— _Elim_ , Julian supposes he should call him now, at least in the privacy of his own mind—had not bitten hard enough to break the skin, but he’d left a neat line of marks from the collar of Julian’s uniform to just under his chin. The sight of the mouth-shaped contusions sends a sharp pang of longing through him.

 

 _None of that Jules,_ he tells himself sternly. He retrieves a dermal regenerator from his desk drawer and erases the evidence, using the time to calm himself down, to become Doctor Bashir once again. It’s harder than it should be, but by the time Security arrives with a dozen patients in tow, he’s managed to banish the memory of cool lips against his skin.

 

    “Doctor,” Odo gripes at him as soon as he appears. “Please tell me that Ambassador Troi is not on the station wreaking havoc again.” He motions to two of the patients, who are twined around one another passionately kissing, heedless to E’lia waving a hypo at them and remonstrating them to stand still.

 

    “Do those men even know one another?” Bashir asks.

 

    Odo harrumphs. “I believe they are married, which is a good thing because those three over there,” he thumbs towards three women glaring daggers at each other in the corner, “have just had a heated lovers quarrel on the Promenade. Your other patients are guilty of similar misbehavior. However, our scans show that they do not appear to be intoxicated.”

 

    “Which calls to mind that incident with the Ambassador. Yes, you’re quite right that the symptoms are similar to those of Zanthi Fever—fever, followed by flush and disinhibition—but I’m afraid it’s a rather unglamorous case of Belvinian flu. No telepath needed.”

 

    “So, we’re to have more of this chaos?” Odo sounds twice as annoyed as usual.

 

    “If we cannot contain the outbreak. However, we’re working on that right now. We will need Security’s help, isolating the cases. In the meantime, just be on the look out for the symptoms I mentioned.”

 

    Odo nods and motions his team out of the Infirmary. By that time, Jabara and E’lia have administered hypos to the group of Bajorans and most of them ae laying back in biobeds and looking rather embarrassed, with the exception of the two married men, who instead look rather delighted.

 

    “Ensign E’lia,” Doctor Bashir motions the Andorian over, “You’ve done your epidemiology rotation, yes?”

 

    “Yes, sir.”

 

    “Good. I’d like you to assist me with interviews and tracking. Once we’ve gathered the data, you can take a crack at mapping the outbreak. After that, we should be able to target treatment to those most likely to have become infected.”

 

     “Yes sir; thank you, sir!” The Andorian’s antennae flick with excitement at the opportunity to solve a medical mystery. Julian smiles. He remembers what that felt like, back when he was a trainee.

 

    The next few hours are spent in collecting data, building a model, and using Odo’s Security team to begin tracking down those who had come into contact with one of the infected cases. The night nurses come on shift and Bashir sends them with Security to administer prophylactic hypos to those who might be incubating the virus. Julian, Jabara and E’lia have already taken the cure; with the Infirmary short staffed, none of them can afford to get sick. Still, they haven’t been able to isolate the origin point of the infection.

 

    “What is the incubation period for Belvinian flu?” Bashir quizzes E’lia.

 

    “It depends on species. For mammalian humanoids, 24-48 hours. For non-mammalians, 5 days."

 

    “Correct. And the virus isn't contagious during the incubation period. Only after they begin to show symptoms. So, it shouldn’t be that hard to isolate where all these people got it from. And yet these numbers don’t add up. There are no commonalities, no place or person the infected beings have in common.”

 

    By midnight, Julian sends Jabara home. E’lia is still bright eyed, though fairly vibrating from caffeinated drinks, until hour ten, when he too must call it quits. By that time, the number of cases has dwindled, and the outbreak seems to have been contained. Julian isn’t tired—his augments include added stamina—but he is unused to not having to hide that fact. With the Infirmary empty for now, Julian rakes his hands through his hair and stares at the numbers on his datascreen. They stare back at him, unchanging in their failure to make any sense. There are no universal correlations between the cases of the flu, no common cause that has appeared in the data. All twenty-two infected people seem to have come down with it in the last two days.

 

     How can an outbreak just appear out of thin air?

 

    Julian remembers something Dax likes to say. _When something doesn’t make sense, look at it a different way_. Julian flicks his datascreen off and leans back. He wishes he had some paper, like Garak had at his shop. It’s a strangely old-fashioned thing for Garak to have, actual paper, but Julian feels that he understands it. There’s something psychologically fulfilling about the physical act of writing and, while he doesn’t have any paper handy, he does have an ink pen in his desk drawer, an ill-fitting gift from his mother. He lifts his sleeve and writes the equation out on his left forearm. He plugs in the data from memory, doing the math in his head.

 

    Still impossible. Even fudging out the data for 96 hours, longer than the incubation period, there is no common vector point.

 

    He swipes a hand across the neat black characters, smudging them, and then yanks his uniform sleeve down. He hasn’t written on himself since he was a child. One of his earliest memories is the way he used to draw colorful lines up and down his own arms, random shapes and squiggles to resemble writing. It used to drive his mother crazy. But that was before the hospital on Adigeon Prime and well before Jules became Julian. He sighs, leans his head back and closes his eyes.

 

    Julian’s feelings about his modifications have always been complicated. He hates what has been done to him and hasn’t even begun to forgive his parents for their role in it. He is also grateful, in way, for his quick mind and eidetic memory because they allow him to tackle the medical challenges that keep him focused, keep him grounded in his duty to Starfleet and to humanity. And Julian needs that, the grounding and the commitment he’s made to medical science, because without them he’s not sure he’s anything other than the computer that Garak once accused him of being.

 

    Julian cannot help but think of Garak then, remembering how he’d looked after he’d kissed Julian, with his hair mussed and his ridges flushed dark. And, before that, his provoking, blasé smile as he stood across the counter from Julian, fiddling with his damned paperwork.

 

    And just like that, all the pieces come together in Julian’s mind.

 

    He takes a few minutes to make sure. Julian is older now, less prone to enthusiastic mistakes. He scans all the patient reports and inputs the data. Plugs in the variables and checks his math, then double checks the medical database just to be sure he’s got the mode of transmission right. Satisfied, he makes a comm call to Security.

 

* * *

 

 

    At 0700, Julian figures Garak might be awake. He synthesizes a rokassa juice as well as a cup of coffee for himself and makes his way across the habitat ring to Garak’s quarters. He presses the chime and waits for Garak’s voice, which sounds a bit put out. “Yes?”

 

    “It’s Doctor Bashir. May I come in?”

 

    The doors slide open at once. Garak is standing just inside the bedroom, wearing a rather plain set of thermal pajamas and black slippers. His hair is neat, but he still looks like he just woke up.

 

    “Sorry to bother you so early,” Julian says, holding out the thermos of juice as a peace offering. Garak takes it and gestures Julian to the couch.

 

    “Do forgive me my state of undress, Doctor, but I did not expect you,” Garak says rather stiffly, sitting across from Julian in a chair. “What is this about?”

 

    “Yesterday evening.” A flicker of expression lights Garak’s eyes and is gone just as quickly. “Specifically, the papers on your counter.”

 

    Garak appears startled at this shift in direction. “The papers? Oh, you mean my shop stationary. An archaic custom that I’ve adopted for use on-station. I believe on Earth they are called ‘thank-you notes.’”

 

    Julian hums, studying Garak’s face. His eyes look a bit glassy and he is flushed. Bashir sets down his coffee and takes his scanner out. “May I?”

 

    Garak’s mouth thins mulishly. Julian knows that he hates being a patient, but he reluctant nods. Julian scans him quickly, noting the late signs of Belvinian flu infection. Garak must have spent most of the night feverish but has passed that stage now. He puts the scanner away.

 

    “Just a few questions, if I may.” Garak drinks his juice, waving at Julian to continue. “Where did you get the paper?”  

 

    “A courier from Pina Outpost.”

 

    Julian makes a mental note to contact the outpost’s CMO as soon as he’s done here.

 

    “When was it delivered?”

 

    Garak sets the thermos down, slouching a bit in his seat. “Four days ago,” he says and Julian feels a flush of satisfaction.

 

    "And you sent the first batch of 'thank-you notes' out a day or two after?"

 

    “Perhaps that is so. What is the meaning of all of this, Julian?”

 

    “The flu outbreak I've been dealing with? It was transmitted via the paper you had delivered. All of the infected people bought something last month and, after I asked them about it an hour ago, they all admitted to receiving a note from you."

 

    "Ah. This makes me something of a..." Garak's smile is a bit too wide. "A Typhoid Mary, if I recall the historical anecdote correctly."

 

    "You do, and you know you do. Cardassians have perfect recall."

 

    "Not all of us, Doctor. It is a learned behavior, not a genetic one."

 

    "Well, I always enjoy cheating when possible," Julian retorts, but can't quite keep the bitterness from his voice. Garak leans forward in his chair and cups Julian's cheek is his hand. His fingertips are calloused, something Julian had not noticed yesterday. 

 

    "I did not intend that at a slight to you. I meant only to say that certain Cardassians, a certain Gul we both know, for example, fail the training."

 

    "Sorry," Julian mumbles. "I'm tired, that's all. To your point, you would not be Typhoid Mary, as she merely transmitted the disease. You are actually infected. It's why you suffered from fever last night and should have come to the Infimary," he chided. Garak's mouth twisted. "I've brought you the antidote. It works almost immediately, but you will have to remain in quarters today, just to be safe.”

 

    "Ah, what a shame." Garak slumps further back into his chair. Julian has rarely seen him look so relaxed and he hadn’t missed Garak’s use of his first name just now, either. “I’m supposed to do fittings for the Morluck-Rogers-Teger brides today.”

 

    “If it is any consolation, you made them ill,” Bashir tells him. “So, they wouldn’t be coming to your shop today anyway.”

 

    “It is rather a consolation; thank you, doctor. If I may confide something to you, they are harridans, all three of them. That’s a marriage that won’t last.” Garak leans back against the headrest, eyes sliding closed. He giggles to himself a bit and Julian cannot help but smile as he takes the hypo out of his kit, toggling up a dosage. He never thought he would hear Elim Garak giggle. Garak’s face looks serene, almost beatific, a slight smile remaining on his features. Julian’s eyes move from Garak back to the hypo. A thought occurs to him—a very nasty, very Jules thought, but Julian cannot resist it. He slides the hypo back into his bag and instead leans forward, pressing his palm to Garak’s cheek. Garak draws in a breath and his eyes slide open a bit, glittering at Julian.

 

    “You don’t feel feverish,” Julian murmurs.

 

    “I feel fine,” Garak assures him. “My very dear doctor.”

 

     Julian makes to withdraw his hand but Garak captures his wrist and guides Julian’s knuckles to his mouth, presses quick kisses across them before releasing him. The simple gesture of affection rattles Julian a bit, but it also shores up his ruthless impulse to take advantage of the situation.

 

    “I do have some other questions for you,” he says in his Perfectly Normal Doctor voice. Garak’s eyes slide closed again, but his fingers make a graceful gesture at Julian to continue. Julian feels a stab of something—trepidation perhaps, because, as much as he loved Garak, the old fear still clings to him. The fear of rejection, the fear of being _too much._ He feels himself withdrawing a bit, blurting out the first fairly innocuous question he can think of, “What is your age?”

 

    Garak’s eyes slit open again and he tips his head forward. “Is this professional curiosity, Doctor, or personal?”

 

    “Personal. And you called me Julian before.”

 

     Garak’s smile widens. “I did,” he affirms. He leans back into the headrest again, but his eyes don’t leave Julian’s face. “If you’re planning to interrogate me in my weakened state, you should ask questions that matter.”

 

    Julian doesn’t attempt to hide his surprise, but he rebounds quickly. “You speak from experience, no doubt.” Garak’s smile drops from his face and Julian steers away from that subject quickly, not wishing to spoil the mood. “It doesn’t matter, but still, I’m curious. I have a range of ages in mind, given the age of your father, but I’d still like to know.”

 

    “I’m sure you would,” Garak bites back, clearly fighting the disinhibiting effects of the flu virus. “This is rather ruthless of you, Julian.” He is smiling admiringly, so Julian figures it’s all right and not _too much._

 

    “Well,” Julian equivocates, heart in his throat. “I made myself rather vulnerable to you last night, if you recall.” The scorching look Garak gives him nearly undoes Julian, but he presses on. “And I find myself a bit unsatisfied with how we left things.”

 

    Garak opens his eyes and leans forward, his hand brushing over Julian’s knee in a way that makes his stomach tighten. “I wouldn’t want to leave you unsatisfied, my dear,” he croons. Julian shivers as that broad hand slides up Julian’s thigh and rests there. His glittering eyes catch and hold Julian’s and Garak abruptly changes the subject. “You didn’t seem very surprised to hear that Tain was my father, back at the internment camp.”

 

    “I wasn’t. Well, not exactly. You both share the same ear-shape, which is a dominant heritable trait for Cardassians 98.48% of the time. Given your association and apparent relative ages, I guessed that he was a close family member; a father seemed most likely. And it fit with your actions when--” He hesitates, uncertain whether he should mention Garak’s interrogation of Odo. “When you rejoined Tain,” he concludes lamely.

 

    “Very good,” Garak says approvingly. “We will make a spy of you yet.”

 

     The tailor is still leaning forward, his hand still on Julian’s thigh, fingers tracing teasing circles on the light fabric of Julian’s trousers. Julian knows that Garak is trying to distract him, but he isn’t about to be deterred. “Last year, when you tried to destroy the Founder’s homeworld, did you know I was down on the planet?”

 

    “Yes, of course I did,” Garak answers quickly. “But you said you knew that during your rather impetuous speech last evening. Are you regretting your words, dear Julian?”

 

    “No,” Julian says. He reaches out and tangles his fingers with Garak’s, stilling their maddening movement. “But I didn’t say those things so that I could get into your trousers. I want more than that from you.”

 

    Garak’s face, open and smiling before, shutters. He removes his hand from under Julian’s, sitting back in his chair. “That is very flattering, my dear. But I am going to have to ask you for that hypo now.”

 

    Julian’s heart plummets. “Y-yes. Of course.” Julian fumbles in his bag to find the device, silently chiding himself. How could he have read this so wrong? Oh god, how could he have ruined everything so quickly? So caught up is he is self-recrimination that at first he doesn’t notice Garak’s outstretched hand. The tailor wiggles his fingers in a universal “give me” gesture and Julian hands the hypo over to him without comment. Instead of administering the pre-measured dose, Garak sets the hypo down on the table beside him, out of reach of Bashir. He turns back to Julian and meets his eyes.

 

    “I believe you have a question for me, Doctor. Ask it. Then I will choose either to answer or to cure myself.”

 

    Garak’s tone is careful, at odds with the flush still on his cheeks and the slight slurring of his words. Julian is more than a little admiring and, he will admit, turned on, by Garak’s self-control. He shifts on the couch, remembering with perfect clarity the sight of his dark skin marked with the bruises Garak put there.

 

    “Choosing to answer me doesn’t mean that you’ll tell me the truth,” Julian points out.

 

    Garak raises his brow ridges. “If I promised to tell the truth, would you believe me?”

 

    Julian quirks his lips. “Fair point.” He takes a deep breath, gathers his courage. “Last night, I told you that I love you.” His eyes flick to Garak’s face, seeing the way that his expression softens at those words. “I may be augmented, but I’m still human. In situations like these, humans generally dislike ambiguity. I know you likely find it gauche, but I need you to tell me directly, please. Do you feel the same?”

 

    Julian has never been this direct with a lover in his life, and it feels terribly awkward and exposing, but he desperate doesn’t want to make a mistake here. If Garak wants something less—a one-off, or a casual sexual relationship—it is better that Julian knows it now. Because he knows that this is it, for him. If Garak rejects him, Julian will, in time, have other lovers, even other serious relationships, but he will never again have the chance to be himself with someone so perfectly like him. Someone so perfectly built to understand him.

 

    Julian hadn’t always felt this way. When he’d first met Garak, he had been merely curious. The tailor represented something of an enigma and, in the absence of medical research or, that first year especially, deep friendships with his colleagues, Julian had sought Garak out mostly to relieve the tedium. He knew Garak was using him in much the same way, enjoying the shameless flirtation and innuendo that Julian pretended not to perceive. It was _fun_ to deliberately misinterpret Cardassian literature, in order to provoke Garak into annoyed, if rather insightful, lectures about human prejudices and the power of narrative. It was _fun_ trying to figure out Garak’s angle. It was _fun_ matching wits with him, even if Garak didn’t quite know that that was what they were doing.

 

    However, after that business with the brain implant, Julian figured he learned everything he could about Garak. He could read between the lines well enough to know the answers to his questions about, if not the exact circumstances of, Garak’s exile. His hypothesis about Garak’s parentage has left him feeling satisfied with that particular mystery. Besides, Julian did not need the complication of a friendship with an ex-Obsidian Order operative trying to get back into Tain’s good graces. He knew Garak wouldn’t be above blackmailing him, and he would rather not have to resign his commission due to a sharp-eyed, disgraced Cardassian. At that time, Julian had been making an effort to cement his friendships with Chief O’Brien and with Lieutenant Dax, and so it was easy to go a few weeks without seeing Garak. He tried not to make it obvious—it wouldn’t do to seem to be avoiding Garak—but the tailor seemed rather disquieted by some of the things he’d said to Julian when his brain implant had malfunctioned and was therefore perfectly willing to accept Julian’s excuses.

 

    Yet, in those weeks where they didn’t see each other, Julian found himself thinking of Garak at the oddest times: during surgery, or at the replimat, or while playing darts with the Chief. He would be doing something entirely unrelated to the Cardassian in any way, and just like that his attention would be diverted to a sudden vision of Garak’s hands, or his bright blue eyes, or, and especially, the ridges that spilled down his shoulders into a whorl at the center of his chest. It was maddening, the way his body would light up as these thoughts flooded his mind. That he was sexually attracted to Garak wasn’t news to Julian. He had two perfectly working eyes, after all. But he knew he couldn’t go down that path with Garak. It was too risky, and while Julian was still prone to recklessness where his career was concerned, his secret must be maintained at all costs. He took a few lovers—male and female—hoping to scratch the itch, but nothing seemed to help. By the time Julian figured out what was happening, he was already too far gone to stop it.

 

    He was in love with Elim Garak. A ridiculous, disastrous notion, but one so truly felt that Julian couldn’t ignore it.

 

    The two and half years that followed were the best and worst of Julian’s life. It was an absolute torment to watch those hands across a lunch table tracing elegant gestures as Garak lectured or inveigled him. Julian has to steel himself every time he looked into Garak’s eyes, sure he would reveal more than he meant to in an unguarded moment. And, almost every morning he woke up hard from dreams of that damned pattern on Garak’s chest. One time, Garak had spoken so passionately about the beauty of the repetitive epic that Julian had had to cancel lunch twice afterwards because he wasn’t sure he could hide his feelings from the other man. The whole thing was enough to drive him insane.

    Yet, through it all—the ugliness of Garak’s ambition, his attempted genocide and incarceration, even his loyalty to Tain—Julian couldn’t stop loving him. Garak was the most intelligent, fascinating, alluring person he had ever met. And, while Elim Garak might not be a _good_ man, Julian wasn’t sure he was a good man, either. Now that his secret was out, there was nothing to hold him back. He knew there was still some risk—he was the CMO of a Federation starbase and therefore had access to a great deal of sensitive and classified information—but after Dukat’s takeover of Cardassia, Julian has a feeling that he and Garak are playing for the same team now.

 

    Garak is motionless in front of him, considering his answer. At last he nods and picks up the hypo, pressing it to his neck. The device hisses as the cure is administered and Julian takes out his tricorder reflexively, noting the way the intoxicating effects of the flu are already abating. In a few minutes, Garak will be completely clear-headed. Is this his answer? Julian watches the bio readout with burning eyes, trying to control the way his hands are trembling.

 

    He swallows a few times before saying, “The effects have cleared your system now.” He busies himself with putting the tricorder back in his medical bag, then gestures with an outstretched hand for the hypo, not meeting Garak’s eyes. He hears Garak’s huff of breath and instead of the hypo, Garak’s cool palm slides in to his.

 

    “Sometimes I forget that, for all your brilliance, you are still rather young,” Garak murmurs. He squeezes Julian’s fingers and Julian can’t help the way his eyes dart to Garak’s face, heart catching at the unguarded fondness he sees there. “And very human,” Garak continues with a small smile. He reaches out and takes Julian’s other hand in his own, forcing Julian to lean forward. “You need to hear it out loud? Fine. But only just this once, you understand.”

 

    He pauses and Julian cannot speak. He nods his assent, his face feeling hot. Julian knows he is a few seconds from an embarrassing break down, but he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the universe because Garak leans forward, his blue eyes holding Julian’s and simply says, “Yes.”

 

 


	3. Three

 Julian knows he is a few seconds from an embarrassing break down, but he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything in the universe because  Garak  leans forward, his blue eyes holding Julian’s and simply says, “Yes.”

At that one word, Julian’s entire world spins. He is completely disconnected from himself for a moment — eyes sliding closed, breath coming in gasps, hands shaking. Julian fights back the tears prickling behind his eyes because he has wanted this for  _ so long;  _ he hadn’t realized how much until just now. It’s like discovering medicine, like scoring the winning point, a long ribbon unfurling in his chest and spiraling out into his limbs . S hivering waves of finally, finally getting what he wants. 

He comes back to himself to find his face is tucked into  Garak’s  shoulder, neck ridges rasping against his cheek.  Realizes that  Garak  has hauled him across the space between them and he’s now practically sitting in  Garak’s  lap, breathing in the earthy scent of his skin.  “Sorry, sorry,” he mumbles. “Told you I was tired.”

Garak’s  hands release their grip on his shoulders and begin travelling down Julian’s back. His hands are cool, far cooler than a human’s, and they cause a pleasant tingle  in their wake .  Julian lets himself be soothed for a moment before pressing  a kiss just under  Garak’s  ear and lean ing  back to see a rare, genuine smile on Elim’s face. “Indeed. How long has it been since you slept, exactly?”

“Not long enough for you to lecture me about it,” Julian smiles back.  Julian slips his hand under the hem of  Garak’s  night shirt and up to press his palm against the whorl of scales at the center of  Garak’s  chest. 

“You seem fairly fascinated with my  _ tamorh-yezul _ _ , _ ”  Garak  says.  Garak  pulls their hips together and winds a hand into Julian’s hair, pulling deliciously until Julian’s eyes meet hi s . His greater strength should not rev Julian up as much as  it does, but the easy way  Garak  is holding him in place has him half-hard . Garak  sees it all, a knowing smile spreading across his face as he asked in a conversational tone,  “Would you like me to show it to you, Julian? ” 

 There’s a big part of him that wants to just let  Garak  take control  but that smile goads him into resisting, twisting his head away from  Garak’s  restraining hand and fisting his own fingers into the soft fall of  Garak’s  hair. He twists, not at all gentle, and the teasing smile becomes sharper. Julian leans forward and viciously bites at  Garak’s  upper lip.

“Let me see it,  Elim . ”

He fists fabric and tugs  Garak’s  shirt over his head, tossing it towards the end of the couch.  Garak  gives him a reproachful look  for the mishandling of his clothing, which  Julian ignores because he is enchanted  by the pattern of scales – half-rings leading down into an intricate swirl of soft scales, pale against the darker grey of  Garak’s  skin. He’s seen this years ago, was unable to forget the hidden beauty of  Garak’s  body, so wholly unexpected at the time and now laid bare for her perusal. Julian stares in fascination.

 The scales start just below  Garak’s  ears and  follow the ridges bracketing the  Cardassian’s  neck and shoulder s . The  lines curls around each scapula towards the center of  Garak’s  chest, one of a set of three loops in the same shape as the brow ridge, though less pronounced, that brackets his powerful chest. A smaller and even more refined set of scales meets the first loop and trails into another curl around the pectoral muscle and finally, a third looping whirl of scales meeting in a spoon-shaped indentation at the center of  Garak’s  chest. Julian traces around the small indentation, following the lines of scales  over the place a nipple would be on a mammalian species  and  up towards the flare of the shoulder ridge. The scales grow larger and rougher as they get closer t o  the strong cord of muscle running just below the craggy ridge between shoulder and throat  until they disappear under  Garak’s  ear.

 Julian ’s  fingers make the circuit twice more, brain perfectly quiet for glorious long seconds, all his focus on  Garak’s \-- “ T _ amorh-yezul _ _ ,”  _ Julian murmurs, trying his best to imitate  Garak’s  exact intonation.

“Very close,”  Garak  allows. He’s wearing that irritatingly smarmy smile again, and Julian wants to wipe it off. He grasps the neck ridge and pinches  sharply ,  hard  enough to  elicit  a curse that is not caught by the translator.  Garak’s eyes catch his, their look sharp and intense.

 Julian  returns the look but keeps his voice light.  “Say it again, then.” 

Garak  obeys and Julian copies him, pronouncing the phrase again and earning a begrudging, “Correct.” 

The smile has completely disappeared from  Garak’s  face, replaced by the hungry look he’d worn earlier, back at his shop. It thrills Julian as much now as it did then. Julian bends.  The kiss starts slow but   Garak ’s  tongue s oon s weep s  inside to taste Julian , twining teasingly around Julian’s . His hands clutch Julian’s hips again,  fingers  pressing  bruisingly  into Julian’s skin . Julian moans at the feeling and presses back, tongue plundering the cool mouth.  When Julian is forced to come up for air,  Garak  gets his revenge for Julian’s earlier pinch  by wrenching his undershirt’s collar down and biting a mark into the space between Julian’s neck and shoulder.

“Don’t heal this one,” he growls and Julian feels his head swim. He fumbles for the  fastening at the  front of his uniform jacket and  Garak  draws back  a little.

“Allow me,” he s ays . He  parts  Julian’s jacket and  then goes for  the placket of his trousers, opening  them  and pushing  Julian’s  shorts aside to close a cool hand around his cock. Julian  yelps  in shock  and  Garak  laughs warmly against his mouth. “Is it true, what they say about humans?” he asks. His fist slides up Julian’s shaft, the slight rasp of calloused fingers making  his entire blood supply diverts south.   “That you are easy to satisfy?”

His hand grips a little tighter and Julian gulps. “More so than a  Cardassian , I take it.”  Garak’s  fist slides up and over Julian’s exposed glans and Julian bites back a moan.

“Yes,”  Garak  says in an officious voice. “The human arousal cycle is said to be much shorter.”

 “N-never been with a human before?”

“Not a male,”  Garak  says and bites at one of Julian’s nipples through his med blue undershirt. “But I find some things are universal between genders and species.”

Garak’s  blasé voice is  pure  provocation. “Is that so?” Julian asks. His fingers, which were shocked into stillness by  Elim’s  hand on his cock, find their way unerringly to the  _ t _ _ amorh-yezul _ __ and runs his fingernails lightly across it. There is a sharp inhalation of breath from the other man but the rhythm of his hand stroking Julian’s cock does not falter. 

“And what about you, my dear Julian? Have you been with a  Cardassian  before?” The pace of his hand increases slightly and Julian lets out a little whine. 

“Y-you know I haven’t, you ass,” he gasps out. He buries his head in  Garak’s  neck, breathing in his  petrichorian scent.  Pheremones , he realizes. Undetectable to most humans, but his heightened senses just barely pick up what would be shiningly obvious to another  Cardassian . He sits back to see  Garak’s _ krilătbre-yezul _ __ is flushed bright blue.  

“ Elim .” The other man shivers a bit and  meets his eyes. Julian lets his tongue wind around  Garak’s  name again. “ Elim . Are you marking me?”

The  other man looks chagrined. “Most mammals cannot perceive it. The effect is not permanent. It will dissipate  a few minutes  after I reach completion ,” he says. Suddenly, a lot of the intense post-coital conversations in the  Kardasi  novels he’s read make sense.

 Julian buries his head back in  Garak’s  neck and murmurs, “It smells lovely.”  Garak starts a rather more ruthless rhythm, drawing all of Julian’s attention back to the perfect pressure of his han d and the aching pressure building up . The smell of rain envelopes him, soft and subtle. Julian gives himself over to it. With a cry, Julian comes hard. 

“Stop,” he gasps when he’s able and  Garak’s  hand stills at once. “It’s very sensitive, after.”

Garak  pushes away slightly, wiping his wet hand on Julian’s undershirt. Julian grumbles at him half-heartedly. He can’t bring himself to care about his clothing at the moment.  “ See? Easy,”  Garak  says, smile taking the sting out of the words.

“W iseass,” Julian says affectionately.

Garak’s head cants to the side. “I’m sorry, the translator didn’t quite catch that.”

“You caught the gist.” Julian slides off  Garak’s  lap and stands, stripping off first his boots, then his trousers, jacket and undershirt. He sets all but the undershirt across the chair, ignoring  Garak’s  griping at him about folding and hanging, and walks to the recycler in his standard-issue black briefs. He chucks the undershirt into it and turns back to pin Garak with a look.

“I will get you back for that, you know.”

“Will you?”

“Most definitely. However,”  He puts both hands on  Garak’s  shoulders to loom above the  Cardassian .  “I have to go back to the  Infimary  in a few minutes and someone’s ruined my uniform.”

“A h. And now that you are sated you intend to abandon me to my fate. Most cruel, Julian. A s for your uniform, which you yourself ruined despite your injurious implication, you could replicate another  undershirt  from here.”

“Use my credentials on your terminal? Not likely,” Julian says and drops to his knees. He presses a kiss to  Garak’s  smile, running a hand  from  the center of his chest down to his groin, unceremoniously palming the smooth space between Garak’s legs.  He can feel a slight rise just under the  pubus  and he runs teasing fingertips over that spot, eliciting a shiver from the other man.  “And you needn’t be so dramatic about me going when I’m returning tonight.” As Julian  speaks  he busies himself with untying  the drawstring at the waist of  Garak’s  black thermal bottoms, pulling them down but not off.  His eyes follow the line of scales running under  Elim’s coxal  bones, joining at a slit perhaps two fingers wide and engorged dark grey. He leans forward and ghosts his breath across the hairless, swollen place and watches in fascination as it leaks a bit of fluid.  “Or did you forget our date at 1900?”

He licks  the fluid  experimentally;  Garak  makes a very interesting noise and Julian flicks his eyes up to see the other man’s eyes slide closed, head falling back to the cushions.  “No, I did not forget it, my dear. I ndeed, I am looking forward to it .” His voice sounds perfectly even, but his hands are gripping Julian’s shoulders just where neck ridges would be on a  Cardassian .  

Julian  spends a few precious seconds licking up the syrupy fluid, breathing in the smell of his skin , dipping his tongue into the slit and lapping at the head of  Garak’s  penis, sitting just inside the pouch, wet and ready. He knows that  Cardassians  can control the eversion and retraction of their penis back into the public cavity to some extent and Julian wonders how much control Garak actually has , whether arousal affects his ability and if so, how much.  _ Experiments for another time _ , he thinks  and licks the head lightly one last time before leaning back on his heels and looking up into  Garak’s  face. His face is slightly slack, eyes still closed.

Four minutes,” Julian tells him. “Evert for me?” 

It takes a few seconds for  Garak  to respond, but he finally nods and says,  “Very w ell,” a bit breathlessly and without opening his eyes. H is penis slowly emerges from the slit, slick with fluid and jutting straight out from his body. The tip is pointed, much like the ridges at his neck, thickening into a shaft that is narrow er  but longer than human average. I n a few seconds, he’s fully everted and Julian leans over and parts  Garak’s  legs for better access, licking a stripe up the bottom. He keeps his tongue light, tasting the clear, thick fluid. It  tastes a bit like rhubarb ,  but gets sweeter the longer Julian licks at ; t he taste and the pheromone  Garak  is emitting twine together, the sweet  taste  mixing with the earthier scent  to create something  subtle and appealing. The texture of his skin is different here, finer, more fragile.  Julian continues on gently, gently – experimenting with pressure and tempo until he found something that made  Elim’s  body jerk, hips rolling forward .

Three minutes. 

This countdown should not be turning him on the way it is, but Julian is determined to wring every last bit of pleasure out of  Elim  in the time available.  Julian makes a light fist, teasing at the base of  Elim’s  shaft, keeping his touch as soft as his tongue. The other man’s hips surge again and Julian groans his approval, relaxing and letting  Garak  thrust into his mouth. He keeps his lips loose, mouth wet and slick, tongue flicking the tip as  Elim  withdraws to push back in again. His other hand closes around  Garak’s  ankle, just above his trouser cuff, touching bare skin. He taps out the rhythm of the countdown,  each second gone winding into Julian’s gut and driving his will to succeed higher. 

Garak  groans in his lovely voice, usually so controlled but gravelly with desire just now. Julian loves his voice, the dulcet tone and the way he plays with words. Loves the way  Garak’s  neat, squared hands scrabble over Julian’s skin , not bothering to moderate his strength . Loves, best of all, that after only twelve taps to his ankle,  Garak  picks up the rhythm and groans, clearly just as motivated as Julian because he  begins to thrust  in time with the countdown as it ticks over.

One hundred-twenty seconds.

Elim’s  thrusts are becoming less coordinated, the noises he makes more needing. Sixty seconds and he  knows Elim  knows it too, because his tempo increases, spearing into Julian’s mouth with intent. One hand  snakes  between them and closes around Julian’s fingers, tightening his grip and then that syrupy fluid begins to spill in thick rivulets from slits all around the head. 

Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven.

The smell and taste of  Elim  is like rain against his palette.

Six. Five. Four.

Elim  lets out a keening cry and his  whole body  shakes. The fluid floods Julian’s mouth, dripping down over his chin and neck. The shaking continues, hard enough that Julian has to pull off, but he uses his hands to lightly pump  Garak  through it.  Garak  cries out again and his skin, which has been cool against Julian’s, becomes wickedly hot for a moment, a flush of deep grey starting in his center and spreading out as  Garak’s  cry sheers off into jagged moans. The fluid stops dripping and Julian lightens his touch to just a teasing dance of fingernails over the scales under his hip, watching in fascination as the softened penis deflates quickly and retracts tidily away.  Sits back and watches the other man collect himself and slit his eyes open to see Julian’s teasing smile.

“Who’s easy now?”

“Yes well,”  Garak  says primly. “It has been a rather long time and what you were doing, licking into my pouch like that, is quite obscene.”

“Is it?” Julian widens his eyes innocently. Garak ignores him and rights his clothing, pulling his shirt back on. Julian is going to be late for work, but he cannot help but needle the other man a little. “Surely a great hallmark of  Cardassian  literature like  _ The  _ _ Neverending _ _  Sacrifice  _ would not include allusions to an obscene sexual practice, hidden is layers of subtext.”

Julian is fixed with a look. “That would be a wildly alternative analysis of the text, and quite opposed to the approved interpretation.”

“Uh- huh.”

Garak’s  lips twitch, clearly enjoying the conversation as much as Julian. He gets up and goes over to the replicator, keying in a replacement for Julian’s sleeveless undershirt. “Perhaps there are a few texts we should revisit,” Garak says as he hands it over. Julian puts it on and shimmies into his pants as Garak continues. “You may have a stronger appreciation and understanding of the nuances of Cardassian literature now than you did several years ago.”

“Perhaps,” Julian allows. He fastens his jacket and sits to pull on his boots. He feels peaceful, totally and completely himself in a way he has not been since...Julian cannot really think of a time. Julian is aware of  Garak’s  past, realizes the hands that handed him his shirt just now have killed people, probably a great many people. He knows that man still lives somewhere in  Garak , though he thinks  Garak  is trying to be a different sort of soldier for  Cardassia  these days. Still, Julian is aware of all the ways this could go wrong.

He doesn’t give a damn about any of them.

“Remember, you’re quarantined today. Do you need anything from your shop? I can go there and come back during my lunch break.” 

“No, but that is quite thoughtful of you, Doctor. However, I have a few projects here to work on.”  Garak’s hands smooth over his shoulders, making a show of straightening Julian’s jacket. Julian catches his eyes, allows his feelings to show on his face for a few moments – love, contentment, longing, amusement – before smoothing them behind his Perfectly Normal Doctor face. Garak ’s  mouth twists approvingly. He presses his fingers into the bruise he made earlier, now hidden by the high collar of Julian’s undershirt and s teps away , releasing Doctor Bashir  to the tender mercies of the station’s Infirmary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cardassian terminology
> 
> krilătbre-yezul - The spoon-shaped protrusion on the forehead, literally hunter-eye. 
> 
> tamorh-yezul - The pattern of scales at the center of the chest, literally shadow-eye.


End file.
